


Correct Protocol

by maven



Series: Policy and Procedure [1]
Category: Birds of Prey (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 05:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maven/pseuds/maven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Gordon gets an unusual visitor and an unusual request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Correct Protocol

**Author's Note:**

> This is an Alternative Universe as it’s a blend of the Birds of Prey television show and a variety of DC comic books, particularity The Killing Joke and the Batman titles between 1983 and 1991.

Usually he referred to it as his twenty-five thousand dollar alarm clock. Between eight and nine every morning the paper would arrive, waking him with the gentle ping that indicated the front walk sensor had been tripped. 

He'd fought against it. He was retired and off the public radar. It was a state of the art, multi-sensor security system that was beyond his needs. But, she'd insisted and played her 'but it will make me feel better' card, and it had been installed. There was a fancy remote control that he could never find, a control panel in his study and, in every room, a little speaker and a panic button. Which meant that whatever room he was in he would be warned and could call for help. Which also meant he couldn't escape the damn pinging. 

The front walk sensor had been tripping on and off for the last fifteen minutes. Likely a cat or stray attracted to the shelter of the front porch then scared off by the automatic light. So he had ignored it until annoyance drove him from his comfortable chair, pausing only long enough to grab the automatic and clip from the desk. He was retired, not stupid. Retired, but still a target. 

James Gordon, retired commissioner of the Gotham Police Department, parted the heavy curtains and looked out. 

At first he couldn't see anything, rain obscuring the dim light of the street lamps. But then the figure turned and the dark coat opened enough to reveal a flash of white. He could see hands gestating as if in a silent conversation or argument before the figure froze, nodded and moved with sudden resolve toward the front door. 

The knock, when it came, was firm and loud. Gordon tucked the gun into the small of his back and carefully opened the door. 

"Good evening, Commissioner. May I have a moment of your time, sir?" 

"Helena, come in," he said, standing to the side and allowing Helena Kyle to enter. She looked, he thought, like a drowned rat and she glanced awkwardly at the puddle of water already collecting on the carpet. "And remember, call me Jim. Let me take your coat?" 

With a graceful shrug the leather duster was off and handed over. Gordon moved toward the closet before a short laugh stopped him. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Helena trying to control more laughter. 

"Sorry. Gun. Bad joke. Very inappropriate. Sorry." 

Gordon smiled, hanging the coat up before pulling the gun out and releasing the clip. He automatically checked the chamber and smiled. "Well, I am glad to see you, Helena. It's been awhile. Come into the study. It's warmer there. Can I get you a towel? 

She shivered, a slight tremor that sent a spray of water from her head and clothing. Just as suddenly she froze, a slightly embarrassed smile on her face. "Ah, sorry," she said, shrugging. "No, I'm fine." 

Gordon nodded, looking her over curiously, surprised at how long it had been since he'd seen her. In the past Helena had occasionally sought him out to mediate some punishment that Barbara had imposed on her young ward. Since then visits had turned to chance encounters at Barbara's apartment or some social event where his extended family was expected to attend. Now that he considered it, it occurred to him that he'd seen very little of Helena over the last few years. Ever since she'd moved out of the clock tower. 

The years had added maturity and grace to her previously coltish movement. She was dressed in what Gordon had come to consider her uniform. Dark jeans and a white oxford shirt with the cuffs rolled up to just above her wrist. Boots, never shoes since she graduated from high school, in the style the men at the station referred to as 'ass kickers'. A couple of swipes had fingered combed the unruly hair into some kind of order and Gordon smiled fondly. 

"I'm very glad to see you, Helena," he repeated before heading into the study, returning the gun and clip to the drawer. "What can I do for you?" 

"Ah. Well, it's hard to explain," she said, drawing a deep breath, "I respect you a lot and your opinion matters. And there's this thing which… well, not a thing so much as Barbara and she hasn't been my guardian for years. Not since I graduated so I don’t want you to think this is sudden or transference crap and I know I have this dead-end job but I can do better and, you know, support her. Not that she needs supporting 'cause she's so smart and can do anything she wants and oh fuck I'm not doing this right." 

In the nearly 15 years Jim Gordon had known Helena he had never heard her ramble in such obvious unease. "Relax, Helena," he said, trying to lighten the mood, "it's not like you're asking me permission to marry her." 

The nervousness disappeared into a look that he could only describe as pure terror. "No, sir. Just, date her. If that's okay with you? Sir." 

"Jim," he automatically corrected her. "Do you mind if I smoke?" 

"No. Mind if I drink?" she said, grabbing the brandy decanter, pouring out a large tumbler and downing the contents quickly. 

"Show some respect for the brandy, Helena. Its older than you." 

"Sorry," she murmured, pouring another tumbler and taking a small sip. He watched her, taking the time the ritual of preparing a cigar took to regroup his thoughts. 

"What did Barbara say when you asked her?" 

"I haven't asked her. I wanted to talk to you first." 

"How…" 

"Traditional? Quaint? Old fashioned? Stupid?" 

"Let's just go with unexpected? Pour me one, will you?" 

Carefully Helena prepared a brandy snifter and placed it on the small table beside Gordon. He raised an eyebrow, looking from the snifter to the tumbler. 

"I work in a bar. I know how to pour drinks," she muttered. "I'm not…" 

"I know, Helena," Gordon assured her. And it was true. Although she maintained the outward persona of a rebel and showed a disdain for education Gordon knew she was neither crass nor stupid. Helena's upbringing, while unconventional in many ways, had not stinted on lessons and examples of class and manners. They sat, sipping the brandy, as the room slowly filled with smoke. 

"So this isn't a sudden feeling for you," he finally asked, finding it easy to skirt around concrete words with euphemisms. 

"No. Not sudden at all." 

"And are they returned?" 

"I… I don't know. I haven't … pursued … this in any way." 

"She's not an easy person to get close to." 

"I know. But I don't do much of anything easy." 

"No. The nut doesn't fall far from the tree." 

"My mother…" 

"Your father," he corrected, ignoring the hissing intake of breath as she looked down, hands obscuring her eyes for a few moments. "You share a lot of traits with your mother but your inability to take the easy road is not one of them." 

"Sir?" 

"Please, call me Jim. You think knowing him so well I wouldn't have noticed that he dropped out of sight just after the shooting? That I didn't question everyone at the hospital and hear what you said to him that night?" 

"Oh." 

Gordon glared at his brandy. "Retired, white hair and glasses and they think you've forgotten how to think," he muttered softly. A muffled snort indicated it had not been soft enough. "I suppose that's what you meant by you could support her?" 

"Yeah. I haven't touched it for me. But … her … yeah." 

"Stubborn. No, pig-headed tenacity you inherited from both your parents, I think." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Your mother, no offense, was more the 'take the easy way' type." 

"Actually, she was pretty much just 'take'." 

"She was," Gordon laughed outright as Helena smiled fondly. "Now that I'm retired I can tell you that I'm glad I never caught her. I would have hated to see her caged. I don't want you to think I didn't honestly try," he said, jabbing the cigar in the air for emphasis, "but with so much evil out there it was nice to just deal with, well," 

"Classy professional greed," Helena offered. 

"Exactly," he agreed, smiling fondly at Helena. "I have such a hard time imagining you having Seline Kyle as a mother." 

"Yeah, well, she was just mom to me. Not anything else. She, ah, she thought well of you." 

"Helena, don't start lying to me now." 

The grin was unabashed. "Well, she said that if any of the Gotham Keystone Cops could catch her, it would be you. For her, highest praise." 

Gordon laughed, the sound dying slowly to a companionable silence. We watched her as she sprawled boneless in her chair, face alive with memories. Happy memories, from the look of it. 

"Helena, What if I say no? Tell you that I won't give my blessing to this?" 

For a brief second, looking in her eyes, he was back in the hospital waiting room and she was a young teenager who had lost everything she loved and trusted in one night. A look of pure loss and pain that shook him now as it did then. 

And then it was gone and the icy control and confidence was back. 

"Then it won't happen." 

"Why?" 

"She loves you so much. Respects and values what you think about her," Helena said, brow creasing in thought. "If her being with me hurts her relationship with you then, eventually, it'll hurt my relationship with her." The hands again obscured her eyes as she shuddered. "Better not to try for anything more. I couldn't hurt you both just for me." 

Gordon examined the cigar. "You know, you're not exactly what I imagined for my little girl when she was growing up." He waved her to silence as she started to interrupt. "I had these dreams. Olympics, college, falling in love, a career, family. My generation, we expect those things for our kids. We work hard so that there's lessons and tuition and pretty dresses." 

"I know." 

"None of them came true like I planned." 

"I know. I don't need to do this. I… your dream… you can have that." 

Gordon snorted in disgust, "Oh, the hell with that." 

"Sir?" Helena's head popped up. 

"Go for it. God knows I'd rather she be with someone who can kick her ass when she needs it. Not like those wimps she's been dating recently." 

"Are you sure?" 

"About everything? No. About you? Yes. The, ah, package may not be what I imagined for Barbara but your actions and words… they're what I want for her." He leaned forward, "You and I both know how fleeting life can be. I don't want to deny her, or you for that matter, that. Make her live. Make her happy. That's all I ask." 

"Thank you," Helena said, a slightly stunned look on her face that caused Gordon to laugh out loud. 

"You don't have a clue what to do now, do you?" 

"Nope," she agreed cheerfully, standing and stretching with delight. "Not a fricking clue at all. I'm not much for actual planning. That's Red's job. Guess I'll just play it by ear." 

Gordon smiled, following her to the door and helping her on with her jacket. He opened the door, looking out. The rain had stopped and the moonlight lit the puddles causing a light glow in the night. 

"However this turns out, Helena?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Don't be a stranger. You're family, no matter how this other thing goes." 

She regarded him carefully for a few seconds before nodding. "Thank you." 

"Helena," he called out. 

She turned on the steps, half in the shadow of the walk, half in the light of the porch. 

"Two other people disappeared that night, you know." 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Jim." 

He smiled. Retired, white hair and glasses and they still protected him. "No, I don't suppose you do. I try not to think about it too much. I don't suppose you know anything about some leather clad woman in, and I quote, kick ass boots? And gold cat eyes?" 

"Gold cat eyes? Either your cops are drinking or just too poetic to be let out at night." 

"They're not my cops anymore." 

"Jim," she said, chiding, "They'll always be your cops." 

"True. I'm glad this Kyle is on my side." 

"Me too." 

END


End file.
